


Halloween Write-o-Ween Challenge

by wibblywobblymess



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Lethal Weapon (TV), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS: New Orleans, Once Upon a Time (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Covenant (2006)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblymess/pseuds/wibblywobblymess
Summary: I attempted to write 31 Days of Halloween prompts for October, for my various fandoms. It wound up being much harder than I expected, so I only wrote was I was able to write.That would be these.Each chapter is a different Day, a different story.This fic is Complete.





	1. Uncanny (Teen Wolf)

_**Uncanny** : strange or mysterious, especially in an unsettling way_ 

* * *

[Originally posted by tweenw](https://tmblr.co/Zuj47e2MXytk2)

       Beacon Hills was strange. That was nothing new. Even if you had no idea what it was about Beacon Hills that made it strange,  _everyone knew_. People disappearing, strange people appearing and then vanishing, odd lights, strange sounds, weird smells. Things like that were just a different kind of normal, and very few people spared it a second thought.

      But this was different.

      There was always some kind of buzz downtown - signs, lights, the drift of voices from shops and passing cars. But tonight, standing downtown, there was nothing. Stiles desperately wanted to blame it on the power outage, after a surge at the power station the night before, but this was a lot more unsettling than something so easily explained.

      With a shake of his head, he blinked a few times, feet scuffing against the wet leaves sticking to the concrete of the sidewalks. No power mean no phones, not even cell phones. It was relatively easy to solve, with walkie-talkies, but most of them didn’t have the range of the town of Beacon Hills, making it difficult for Scott or Derek to get in touch with him. It just seemed obvious to hike his ass to Derek’s loft, although now that he was halfway there, he wished he’d gone the lazy route and taken his jeep.

“But,  _no_ , you had to decide to walk. It’s cool out! It’s not raining! Come on, Stiles, you’re smarter than this,” he grumbled at himself, hands buried in his pockets as he kicked a rock, shuffling down the sidewalk.

      The sight of the loft, finally, made him groan happily, glancing over his shoulder before he jogged down the road, flipping the flashlight on on his phone to guide him once he got into the building. Without power, the elevator was out of order, but Stiles didn’t mind the steps most of the time, shrugging away the tingling on the back of his neck as he skipped the steps up to Derek’s floor.

      He could hear noise coming from inside the loft as he reached the door, the sound of Scott’s voice most prominent, and with a small smile, he shut off the light on his phone, pocketing it as he yanked at the heavy sliding door.

“Hey, Scotty! This stuck in the dark crap is starting to get to me, you hear anything more about the power out….age….” he trailed, eyes catching sight of the entire pack filling the large room, eyes turned towards the door as he pulled it open. “…did I miss something?”

“Hey! We were wondering how long it was gonna take you to get here!” Scott laughed, bounding over and slinging his arm around his shoulders. “I thought you’d be here sooner, but no big deal. There’s a carnival in the next county, we’re all gonna go over. No point in being around here with no power, right?” Scott asked, already pulling Stiles out of the loft as the others poured out around them.

“See, now, Scotty, that’s using your head,” Stiles laughed, the pack rumbling down the steps so loud, he was sure if there were any neighbors, they’d think the place was coming down.

“Well, wasn’t just me. Derek helped set up over the weekend, got a bunch of free passes,” Scott commented, as they reached the bottom, and Derek sidled past them towards his car. Stiles turned his head to see him, smiling, and nodding, before bounding to the passenger door.

“Look at you, finally pitching in,” he teased. “I call shotgun!”

“You can sit anywhere you want, since we don’t have to pray the jeep will make it,” Derek countered, smirking as he dropped in behind the wheel. Despite his objective squawking, Stiles flopped into the passenger seat, glaring over at Derek as he started the car.

      Darkness and silence in Beacon Hills was unsettling, to say the very least. But Stiles couldn’t help but smile, the feeling fading as they drove, the lights of the fall carnival coming into view, knowing that sometimes the strange things that even they didn’t see coming could lead to some of the most fun they’d had in a very, very long time.

[Originally posted by theartofimagining13](https://tmblr.co/ZmG3Vj2RX7So3)


	2. Chimerical (Teen Wolf)

_**Chimerical** : merely imaginary; fanciful  
_

* * *

[Originally posted by beaconhills-wolfpack](https://tmblr.co/ZmymIc2UCyisR)

The best part of October, of Halloween, was that the need to hide was much less. If Scott and Derek and the others wanted to flash eyes and bare teeth, they could pretend it was excellent contacts and prosthetics for their costumes. If Kira wanted to spark, she could lie about hiding flint in her sleeves, and pretend it was part of her costume. If Parrish wanted to flash the fires around his body, he could just laugh it off and tell them it was a combination of flickering glow sticks and flimsy fabric.

No one that didn’t already know needed to know the truth.

But for Stiles?

His favorite part was decorating the house for the holiday. Not because of the decorations themselves, no, Stiles loved seeing the kids that reminded him so much of himself and Scott from their younger years, oohing and aahing over the amazing displays and lights bringing his house to life.

They always looked so pleased, and so stunned, when they raced by each night leading up to Halloween to see new lights, new decorations, every day.

Stiles loved Halloween, because he never had to spend a penny to decorate his house. When people asked where he found the decorations, ones that they had never seen, he shook his head, saying that he found them online, or he made them, or found them at a second hand shop.

No one needed to know that Stiles was a witch, that he just mumbled a few words and waved his hands when he knew the rest of the block was empty, throwing more lights and decorations in the yard, to see the way it lit up the kids’ eyes. Dancing skeletons and a zombie graveyard and mausoleum, webs and giant spiders with bright red eyes in the trees, a giant dark shadow across the roof of the house that looked like Death himself watching the trick-or-treaters. The front and sides of the house were lit up with lights and echoing with sounds of screams and moans, jack-o-lanterns lit and flickering on the steps up to the front door. “Animatronic” bats and ghouls that were “stored away” during the day but in full movement after dark, darting around the yard and swooping down on unsuspecting visitors. The yard fogging up as though he were using a fog machine (ha, if only they knew!).

The best of Halloween, for Stiles, was how much enjoyment the town got out of the decorations he used on his house, no matter how imaginary they all, technically, were.

No one else needed to know that.

[Originally posted by neverland-diary](https://tmblr.co/ZOtg-q2QS4qal)


	3. Susurrus (Leverage)

_**Susurrus** : a whispering or rustling sound_

* * *

[Originally posted by fuckyeaheliotspencer](https://tmblr.co/ZcF2Oi1-peE9J)

        With the Brew Pub finally closed for the night, and the others gone early for a job - something you stopped asking about a long time ago - you decided it was as good a time as any to turn on some low music, lock the doors, and start decorating as you cleaned. October had hit a few days ago, but you had happily taken over the responsibility of decorating for holidays and seasons, and you had been waiting for Eliot to take the bins of decorations out for you.

       He still hadn’t, but it wasn’t like you didn’t know where they were - you just liked to see Eliot lift things for you. Whatever, you were only human, and he was…well…immensely attractive.

       Besides the point.

       After locking up, cleaning up the front of house, and seeing the rest of the staff off (and locking the back door, too), you moved to the storage closet just past the bathrooms to dig out the bins with decorations. The music wasn’t too loud, you could hear horns honking down the street at jaywalkers cutting across the road, as you stacked the bins on the tables.

       Humming along to the music, you moved around the dining room, hanging a couple autumn-colored wreaths on the door and the wall. You paused at the sound of movement, turning around to scan the room, but you didn’t see anyone else, you didn’t even hear anything after you turned, and, with a soft chuckle, you shrugged, figuring it was just you. Turning back, you pulled out the LED jack-o-lanterns, small ones that fit in the palm of your hands, and turned, replacing the small vases in the center of the tables with the lanterns.

       The sound of rustling made you stop again, and turn your head towards the door, certain you heard something. When you couldn’t pinpoint it, you cleared your throat, and shook your head, decorating a couple more tables.

       This time, the sound of rustling was accompanied by voices, and you nearly dropped the lantern in your hand, grabbing the empty vase and moving towards the sound, brow pulled down.

“Okay, whoever is here, you better either leave or show yourself, or I swear to god!” you hollered, raising it over your head.

“Hey, sweetheart, put it down,” Eliot laughed, poking his head out of the doors from the kitchen, clicking the overhead on.

“Eliot Spencer, oh my god,” you panted, thumping the glass down, and curling forward, hands on your knees. “You shit, you can’t  _tell me_  you’re here?!” you exclaim, throwing a ball of newspaper at him. His laugh made you blush, shaking your head.

“Aw, c’mon, you’re fine.”

“And you three were supposed to be gone for the night, which is why I  _hauled those out on my own_ , Eliot Spencer, you finish decorating this place yourself,” you huffed, moving towards the bar to get your jacket. The sound of the door to the kitchen made you jump, spinning to see Hardison, hands up in the defensive.

“Hey! It’s just me, mama, what’s going on?” he asked, startled, as Eliot laughed.

“She’s jumpy because she didn’t hear us come in.”

“I’m j-, screw off, Spencer,” you huffed, throwing a coaster at him as you grabbed your jacket and bag. “I’m going home.” Hardison looked around, frowning.

“But you didn’t finish decorating,” he commented, hesitating as you turned to see him from the doorway.

“No, no I did not. Eliot’s going to finish, his punishment for scaring me,  _and_  not getting the decorations out like I asked.” Eliot and Hardison looked at each other, before Hardison snickered, heading into the back, as Eliot followed you out, catching your hand. “Stop it.”

“Come on, sweetheart, I’m sorry. But no one decorates this place like you do. So come back inside? Please?” When you just stared at him, he smiled softly, cupping your face, hands softer than they looked against your skin. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“…yeah?” you asked quietly, studying his face. When he nodded, you smiled a little, unable to help yourself, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Okay…but you’re also gonna help me finish hanging up decorations.”

“Anything for my girl,” Eliot agreed, pulling you back into the pub, and locking the door behind you both.

[Originally posted by xxfallintowinterxx](https://tmblr.co/ZPO2Wo2B-mU0x)


	4. Aubade (NCIS: NOLA)

_**Aubade** : a song greeting the dawn_

* * *

[Originally posted by dwayne-pride](https://tmblr.co/ZSKAki2afcady)

       It wasn’t uncommon for people to live in one place their entire lives. It seemed like such a comforting feeling, really, the idea that people liked a place so much they could stay there forever. You know that wasn’t always the case, but, you pretended. It was better that way. But you couldn’t do that. Since you were a kid, you’d lived in a lot of places, mostly as a way to get away from the place before.

      None of them were like New Orleans.

      You could not think of anything you hated about this city, save for the the fact that it could all be washed away with the right weather, but  _that_  aside, you loved it all.

      You loved the places, the sounds and sights and smells, you loved the people.

      You adored the people, actually.

      When you moved down, you rented a room from a nice old woman who lived in the Garden District. The place was lovely, but small, and constantly smelled of the odd food she’d cook. She was lovely, the food was just…odd. But you dealt with it, because you had plans. For the first time in your life, you had actual plans, and you weren’t going to let anything stop those plans.

      They were nudged along, though, when you met Chris LaSalle at the bar off Bourbon one night, nearly a year into living in the city. He was so charming, you had no idea how you didn’t immediately follow him home that night. But it didn’t matter, he called you the next day, you two had dinner, you talked over drinks, and within a few weeks, you had a boyfriend.

      Within six months, you two had moved into an apartment right there in the Quarter. It wasn’t a giant place, but it was big enough for the both of you and your things. You were in love, not just with the city, but with the man that made your heart skip every time he walked into the room, every time his face showed up on your phone when he called, texted.

      You had always enjoyed your sleep. It was something you struggled to hold on to, as much as you could. Sleeping in on your days off had become so normal, that when Christopher started waking you up on his way to shower, to get coffee, to go to work, at first you fought it. But within a couple of months, you were waking with him. It was rare that you both slept in, curled up together, but those mornings, his body warm beneath yours, you didn’t mind. You had finally found a place you wanted to stay.

      The windows were almost always cracked open in the fall, the cool morning air drifting across your heated skin as his fingers slowly slid across your back. Neither of you were fully awake, but the sounds of the street below, saxophones and trumpets seeping in through the walls and the open windows to lull you to greet the dawn, it was comforting, and you followed the sounds until your eyes opened, blinking over the expanse of Christopher’s chest to where your fingers danced over his pec.

“Mornin’, sugarbelle,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Mornin’, Chris,” you mumbled back, kissing his chest. His fingers danced lightly over your throat, brushing your hair off your skin, as he kissed the top of your head. “Work t’day?”

“Nope…day off…kinda hoped t’sleep longer,” he admitted, as you chuckled, snuggling in a bit more.

“No harm with that…” you agreed, eyes falling shut. “Since we’re up…maybe breakfast?” you murmured, curious, smiling as he chuckled, then.

“Maybe later…we can go t’Clover. But right now…I just wanna cuddle,” Christopher replied quietly, both arms curling around your waist as you tipped your head, and met him blindly for a sleepy kiss.

“Okay…cuddlin’ first.” Very little beat the chance to enjoy the warmth of Christopher LaSalle, to the sounds of the French Quarter slipping into the room on the cool autumn breeze of dawn, and you weren’t about to pass that up.


	5. Ephemeral (Steve Rogers)

_**Ephemeral** : lasting a very short time_

* * *

[Originally posted by thosekidswhohuntmonsters](https://tmblr.co/ZyVV5h2PR1-og)

       If Steve rolled his eyes any harder, he’d fall right off the step-stool that he’d finally admitting to needing to reach the top of your ceiling. It made you giggle, as you leaned back against the doorframe.

“I just don’t understand why you go through all this trouble for something that’s only going to last a couple weeks…and get outranked by Christmas,” Steve sighed, finally hooking the autumn colored garland across the high point of your ceiling.

“Because I refuse to let Christmas into this house until I’ve eaten myself into a coma in November, and because my favorite holiday has always been the one where I don’t need to be myself.”

      Steve turned, blue eyes falling on you with a furrow of his brow, as you sighed, shaking your head. Having a family that was dismissive of Christmas as it related to  _giving_  but also big celebrators of the holiday as it related to  _getting_ made you feel a brief flash of happiness followed by over a month of crushing sadness, something you hadn’t been able to shake even though you stopped celebrating with your family  _years_  ago. Somewhere in the midst of depressing holiday celebrations, you had developed a complicated relationship with yourself, one that left you happier being anyone else, even if it was just, like, the Cheshire Cat.

“…you know, all the costumes in the world can’t change the fact that  _you_  are my favorite version of you, right?” Steve asked, picking up the pumpkin cardboard cutout as he climbed off the step-stool. You blushed, pressing gel clings of witches and black cats to the window, eyes tracking the raindrops on the other side of the glass.

“That is very cheesy, Cap,” you replied, lip between your teeth. But when you turned to pick up the next cling for the window, Steve gently took it from you, leaning against the table so you had to look at him. “Steve, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“I’m not gonna make you talk about it. But I do want to say it when you’re looking me in the eye.” You frowned, meeting his gaze curiously. “I can’t make those feelings go away in an instant. But I’m here. I’m here for  _you_. So my goal is to make sure you know that those feelings won’t last, no matter what I have to do to prove that to you.”

      His hand was warm as he tangled his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand in his as you bit your lip, and looked down.

“…you being here does help those feelings go away…but if you keep smack-talking my love of decorating for Halloween, we’re gonna have a problem.” Laughing, Steve pulled you between his legs, your body slumping to his chest as you curled both arms around his waist.

“I tell you what. I will help you decorate this place like Halloween threw up all over the place,  _if_  we can decorate for Christmas the same way…so I can celebrate one of my favorite holidays with the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten,” he teased, lips soft on your forehead.

“Ooh, what a  _compliment_ , how can I tell you no?” you laughed, as he grinned, hugging you close.

“That was the plan.”

[Originally posted by leave-me-colourless](https://tmblr.co/ZkaOEu2P_MQkW)


	6. Sempiternal (Lethal Weapon)

_**Sempiternal** : everlasting; eternal_

_{ **I’m sorry guys, this is more sad than anything else, & there are suicidal thoughts**}_

* * *

[Originally posted by sarcasmcloud](https://tmblr.co/Zi4aqx2SGYORJ)

Riggs thought it was better. He thought that Molly being back in his life was making him better, that Roger being his friend and sharing his life with him was fixing the shit that had been so fucked up in his life so he could, theoretically, live normal. But Riggs didn’t feel it anymore, he hadn’t felt it in months.

The trailer was dark, made it easy enough for him to see the kids moving up and down the nearby street, screeching and laughing as they went door to door for candy and tricks. A few years earlier, Riggs had been excited at the concept of kids, of costumes and candy and lights and decorations. And then he lost everything, and Halloween, and Christmas, and all that shit, it was just, it was nothing to him.

Tossing his empty bottle onto the floor, Riggs stood up, shuffling towards the door of his trailer, lingering for a second at the thought of the gun he’d stuck above the fridge. It was cliche, to off yourself on Christmas, at least as far as he could see. But Halloween? That might be different.

The sound of giggling on the other side of his door made him stop, turn his head, just before a knock, and, sighing, he tugged it open, staring down at the costumed kids grinning up at him.

“Trick or Treat!”

They sounded really happy, completely unaware of the amount of alcohol in his system, and there was something about it that made him relax, made his lips tick up in a small smile.

“Uh…yeah, hang on, guys,” he chuckled, looking around his trailer. He hadn’t planned for candy, kids, any of it, and he knew, even with his own fucked up brain, that dropping beer into their bags was going to be very frowned upon, so, leaving the door, he dug around the kitchen, finally just coming back with his wallet. “I sort of…ran outta candy…but I hope this works,” he chuckled, dropping a couple bills into their bags each, shrugging. “Get any candy you want.”

“…holy shit. Thank you!” they laughed, taking off as he chuckled, shaking his head.

That feeling of loss and sorrow was probably going to last forever, Riggs knew that, he wasn’t entirely stupid. But those kids lit up, when he answered the door, even if all he did was drop money into their bins.

Maybe he could deal with that, with those moments of happy and good and better, and cling to them in the dark times in between. The feeling was never going to go away, but…maybe he could live with that, knowing there would be these moments waiting for him when he least expected it.


	7. Euphonious (NCIS: NOLA)

**_Euphonious_ ** _: pleasing; sweet in sound_

* * *

[Originally posted by specialagentmonkey](https://tmblr.co/ZO5VTw2bM-LEI)

“C’mon, sugarbelle! We’re gonna be late!” Chris called, as you finally got your shoe on, and poked your head around the door of the bedroom.

“How the hell can we possibly be late to the bar? It’s not a movie,” you chuckled, adjusting your foot before grabbing your bag off the back of the door, slinging the thin strap over your head so it crossed your chest, bag resting on your hip.

“Doesn’t mean we ain’t expected, sweetheart,” he chuckled, offering his arm as you rolled your eyes, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. “‘sides, we gotta make through the Quarter, ‘member? Always takes a little longer.”

“If that was your way of saying that my enjoyment of the Quarter with you at my side means we always fall behind, I’ll slap you,” you teased, as he pulled the door open, grinning.

        The sounds of the Quarter filtered around you as you peered up at him, shifting around him so he could lock up behind you. The sounds of music pumping out of speakers at every shop, the laughter and shrieking of people who had never experienced New Orleans as they raced up and down Bourbon. Christopher turned to see you as you waited a few feet away, watching the neon lights, lips curled up at the smile on your lips.

“Sugarbelle?” he asked quietly, slipping up beside you as you turned around, curious. “You ready?”

“Yeah…” you blushed, leaning into his side as you both headed down the street.

       Chris loved you, something he proved with every kiss to your forehead, every brush of his hands against yours, against your cheek, against your arm or your hip. He worried, some days, that you might tire of waiting for him, with his schedule being random at best, but even on his longest nights, he came back to find you, either sleeping on the couch having tried to wait up for him, or curled up on the bed with your hand tucked under his pillow, so he could just slide in against you and have you wrapped up around him.

       As much shit as he gave you for wanting to enjoy Bourbon, regardless of how many times you had ventured through the Quarter and experienced everything it had to offer, Christopher wouldn’t do things differently. He liked watching you move to the music, laughing as you danced with a few of the partiers and drinkers. The music was beautiful, the sounds of jazz and blues mixed with everything else to get people moving, but nothing came close to the sweet sound of your laugh.

       And if it meant being late to the first of many Halloween-themed parties that Pride was throwing at his bar, Christopher would never trade the chance to see you smile, hear you laugh, watch you dance, for anything.

[Originally posted by plainpapers](https://tmblr.co/ZHbE2y2Gypqk4)


	8. Billet-doux (Bucky Barnes)

_**Billet-doux** : a love letter_ **  
**

* * *

[Originally posted by hiname-rg](https://tmblr.co/Z91mjf2GZWP6p)

“‘ey, Barnes! Ya got a letter!” He was off his bunk in a heartbeat, nearly toppling over a few of the guys as he moved towards Dum Dum, snagging the worn envelope from his hand. “Looks like your girls’ handwriting,” he say with a silly grin, as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Dum Dum, gimme that,” Bucky huffed, though his lips were quirked in a smile as he turned away. The familiar script of his name across the front of the envelope made his stomach swoop as he flopped onto his cot, gingerly tearing at the envelope, before unfolding the paper inside. The rose petal fell onto his chest, making him chuckle and pick it up gently between his thumb and forefinger, gliding still soft petal over his cheek.

_Bucky,_

_I had dinner last night with your mom and sisters. Did you know it was possible to miss you more? I didn’t, but I do now. Rebecca smiled at me when I brought her the sunflowers she loves from the shop, and she looked just like you._

_That’s right. You looked like your sister. That’s your punishment for going off to war._

The laugh off his lips was so loud that the other Commandos had to pause to look at him, smirking as he blindly waved them off and pressed the fading pink petal against his chin.

_We’re having dinner here tonight, and I think I’m going to make a roast, the one you love. Danny is taking his family out of town for a few weeks, so he offered me the groceries they have, so nothing goes bad. Can you believe that? Isn’t that wonderful?_

_I couldn’t sleep last night. I don’t like admitting that, knowing you’ve got things a lot harder than I do. But I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. So instead, I watched the stars. I got to see the stars last night, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and when I finally did fall asleep, it was thinking about our first date, up on the roof. Best choice of my life, saying yes to you. I can’t wait to do it again._

_I love you, James Barnes. Come home soon._

The sound of footsteps pulled Bucky’s eyes up, body twitching as Falsworth dropped paper and a pencil in his lap.

“To write back,” he chuckled, leaving Bucky chuckling behind him.

“Thanks, Falsworth,” he replied, shifting to sit up.

_Doll,_

_I really want to be offended that you think I look like Becca, but honestly, she should be more upset you think she looks like me. I’ll be nice, I won’t tell her you said that._

_I miss your roast, doll. We’ve got some food, but in comparison, it tastes like cardboard. Does the job, but damn, I’ll be glad to have your warm food in my stomach again. Not as glad as I will be to have you in my arms, but, I figure that goes without saying._

_Danny is a good man. If he gave you any sugar, I know Becca loves those cookies you always make me. I think she’d love those, with the holidays getting closer._

_Been a while since I paid much attention to the stars, but when I see them, even just one, I think about you. I send you love. I hope you get that love, when you look up at the stars, too._

_I’ll be home soon. You can say yes to me all you want then._

With a soft smile, Bucky kissed the paper under his name like he always did, before moving to tuck the rose petal in his front pocket, reaching in just far enough to be sure the other petals she had sent were still there, nestled around the small band he’d been keeping there until he could get home, and get the one yes from her that he wanted more than anything.

[Originally posted by saneves-fan](https://tmblr.co/ZWypVq1-WIFeN)


	9. Pluviophile (NCIS: NOLA)

_**Pluviophile** : any organism that thrives in conditions of heavy rainfall; one who loves rain, a rain-lover_

* * *

[Originally posted by specialagentmonkey](https://tmblr.co/ZO5VTw2bTMGwY)

“Sugarbelle, close the window! It’s stormin’!” Chris called from the front of the apartment. You huffed, waving him off as you stood by the open window in the bedroom even though he couldn’t see you.

        The rain was pouring down outside, and you had closed up the rest of the apartment when you realized the storm had started, but the one in the bedroom was partially protected by an awning, so very little rain came in, certainly not enough to force you to close the window. Instead, you stood next to it, arms crossed as though you were hugging yourself, and let your eyes fall shut to enjoy the sound of the rain, the smell of it rushing through on the breeze.

“Sugarbelle?” Chris’ voice called, faint behind you as you got lost in the rain.

       You loved the rain. You had always loved the rain. Even after you “outgrew” the years of racing out to play in the mud, you ran out at the first hint of a storm, happy to stand in the middle of the sidewalk with your head tipped back to feel the cold water on your skin. After you moved to New Orleans, you got busy trying to get your life arranged somehow, found yourself too distracted to think about it.

       But now? Now you had an apartment you shared with your boyfriend. You had a steady job. You were comfortable and happy. And it was raining.

       You were not closing the fucking window.

       Chris stood a few feet away, watching you, lips closed but curled into a smile. He remembered when you two had met, during a quick rainfall. He had been coming around the corner from Toulouse to Bourbon, tipping his head to see the sky, to gauge the clouds, and walked right into you. You, who had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes closed, head tilted back. The second he walked into you, you both stumbled, and quickly spouted apologies, but Chris couldn’t deny the fact that you had won him over that day.

       Honestly, he wasn’t surprised to see you enjoying the rain again, something you hadn’t done much of since that day. So instead of reminding you that the wind had shifted, and the rain was going to slip under the awning, he snuck off to the bathroom for a towel, and to kick off his shoes. With a small smile, he crossed the bedroom floor, laying the towel over the windowsill, before sliding his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I love you, sugarbelle.”

“…I love you too, Chrissy.”

[Originally posted by rainycitynights](https://tmblr.co/Z3uWbh2ItkTfq)


	10. Redamancy (Jefferson)

_**Redamancy:**  act of loving in return_

* * *

[Originally posted by fragilefiller](https://tmblr.co/Z6Nygd2apTB7m)

       The tinkling of the bell above the door caught your ear as you closed the oven, and after flicking the timer on again, you headed up front, wiping your hands on your towel.

“Oh, hey, Jefferson.” He grinned at you, reaching up to smooth his hands over his hair, before leaning against the counter. “Same as before?”

“Please,” he replied, as you smiled back at him. “Working on something new?” he asked, curious, nodding towards the back. You glanced over your shoulder, shrugging a little, as you assembled the box on the glass countertop.

“Just baking off some mini-pies,” you told him with a shake of your head. “For some event the Mayor is hosting.”

“Ah, right,” Jefferson sighed, nodding. “The fundraiser thing, right?” You shrugged, chuckling.

“I think so, I wasn’t paying much attention,” you admitted with a laugh as he grinned almost devilishly.

“You’re not going then?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the  _p_  as you slid the pumpkin pie out of the display, placing it in the box.

“…by choice? Or because you don’t have a date?” You looked up at him, curious, blushing under his gaze.

“Both, if you must know.” He put his hands up, apologetic, before stepping towards you, and gently resting his hand over your wrist on the counter. It sent a spark through your skin, one you hoped he felt too, as you shot your eyes towards his.

“I wasn’t trying to sound mean. I was just going to ask if you wanted to be my date.”

      You honestly adored Jefferson. He was strange, but not in a bad or scary way. He was sweet, and he always talked to you when he came into the shop - which, lately, had been a lot more recently - and he was always interested in  _you_. It was such a wonderful feeling, that you knew you were falling for him. But you didn’t want to, not because of anything he’d done, but simply because you felt like there was  _something_  missing, something that you needed to love instead of Jefferson.

      But you didn’t know what it was.

      Instead, you shook your head, and smiled softly as you taped the box closed.

“I…appreciate the offer, Jefferson, but…I’m just going to stay in. Work on a new recipe.”

“…if you change your mind, you know how to find me, dear,” he told you, a sad look in his eyes despite the smirk on his lips. You nodded, accepting the money from him, as you watched him leave.

      Jefferson smiled at the pie in the box. He loved your desserts, all of them being absolutely amazing, but he didn’t enjoy any of them as much as he enjoyed the pumpkin. It was familiar and safe, and a comfort that he needed more than anything most days.

      The knock on his door startled him, as he closed the box, and made his way to the front. The sight of you on the other side almost made him panic, before he yanked the door open, your hair matted to your head from the drizzling rain outside.

“…are you okay?” he asked, confused, as you looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised.

“I know you have feelings for me.” Jefferson reared back in surprise, not because it wasn’t true - god, how it was true - but because he hadn’t expected you to start with that. “And I didn’t want them for you, because I felt like there was someone missing in my life, and I knew they existed, but I didn’t know who they were, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. But I felt guilty, I felt that if I ever let you in, I’d be doing the wrong thing, because I just  _didn’t know_. But today, okay? Today, I was in my kitchen, and I was washing the dishes, and I remembered. I remembered  _everything_ ,” you gasped, reaching up to wipe your face. “And it was you. You were the person that I couldn’t place.”

      Jefferson opened and closed his mouth a couple times, debating on what to say, before pulling you into the house and shutting the door behind you.

“…is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

“You came into my shop every day to see me, and  _every day_ , I felt guilty because I  _am so in love with you_  and I didn’t think I was supposed to be. And today…when it all came back to me…” You tipped your head to see him, hands shaking at your sides. “I don’t feel guilty anymore. I just wanna tell you that I love you…that I’ve always loved you,” you insisted, groaning as he grabbed you around the waist, not caring that you were all wet, and pulling you flush to his chest a tight embrace.

“I love you.”

“God, I love you too.”

[Originally posted by couplenotes](https://tmblr.co/ZfWLRh2JC7REm)


	11. Opia (Criminal Minds)

_**Opia** : the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable_

* * *

[Originally posted by crimmindsdaily](https://tmblr.co/ZfnQOc2TXZwIz)

        Working with the FBI was a hard job, but goddamn it was rewarding. You had bad days, everyone had bad days, but it was something you could deal with when you got to see the look of relief wash over the faces of the people you helped save. You were always one of the first through the door, the rest of the team either directly beside you, or directly behind you, not afraid to do what was necessary to protect your team, your friends, your family.

       Guns you could handle. Getting shot, stabbed, hit, nearly run over with a car. Chasing bad guys. Being threatened. Standing two feet from someone who had methodically and mercilessly attacked and destroyed a dozen people. Those were things you could handle without batting an eye.

       But you stood at the bar, waiting on your drinks, eyes on the bar instead of Luke as he stood beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body near yours, and despite knowing he was watching you, you couldn’t look up at him. You adored Luke, he was one of your best friends, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, not now, not at the bar, not after a few drinks that brought your walls down.

“Y/N?” he asked, as the music broke with the sounds of horror movie screams and cackling. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” you chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the bar decorated with Halloween lights and sounds under the thrum of music. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t looked at me all night, and you usually do,” Luke replied with a half smile as you blushed and shook your head.

“No, I…I’m fine,” you replied, hating that you stuttered, and hating more when his hand curled around your shoulder, because you knew he’d heard it.

“Y/N…”

“Can you get those?” you asked him, as the bartender set the beers on the bar.

       Without waiting for an answer, you grabbed four, turning and hurrying back to the table. With a soft sigh, Luke gathered the others, thanking the bartender, and followed you to the table. But the second the bottles were on the table, he took your arm, and led you away, ignoring your squawking.

“Luke!” you hissed.

“I’m a  _profiler_ , remember? You are avoiding looking me in the eye. Which means you’re hiding something from me that you think I’ll figure out when you  _do_  look me in the eye.” You thwapped his chest, frowning.

“Don’t you profile me, Alvez, I don’t care how smart or pretty you are.” You flushed the second the words were out of your mouth, his lips quirking up as he raised a brow.

“Oh, you think I’m pretty?”

“Shut. Up.” You were desperate to get away, but Luke caught your hand, making you bite your lip as you glanced down where his fingers touched yours.

“Come on…you can tell me. Why can’t you look at me?” Shifting your feet, you whimpered, before you groaned, and rolled your head back.

“Because I’m  _drinking_ , and I’m weak, and I fell in love with you and I didn’t want you to know because I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but if I look you in the eye, I’m not gonna stop myself from telling you because looking you in the eye already makes my knees weak, but since I’ve been drinking, I’m even weaker a-”

       Luke’s lips were soft, as he pressed them to yours, one of his hands on your jaw. It made your breath catch, before you whimpered softly, and pressed in to kiss him back. You followed as he slowly pulled back, eyes fluttering before you blushed and opened them to see him smiling down at you.

“…I love you too,” he replied quietly, heart skipping as you grinned, and leaned in to kiss him again.


	12. Skulduggery (Chase Collins)

_**Skulduggery** : devious behavior_

* * *

[Originally posted by seb-fucker-tucker](https://tmblr.co/ZAViSg2RZF0T8)

       With a quick glance around the dark hall, you knocked on the large wooden door, and shoved it open, slipping in and shutting it behind you. The sound of a laugh made you smile and turn to see Chase, reclining on his bed, one foot on the floor, the other stretched along the bed, as he shifted to put the joint in the ashtray on the nightstand. The sight of you made him grin, and extend his hand.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey, Chasey,” you replied, kicking off your shoes as you crawled over his leg and stretched out against his side, head nestling on his shoulder. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he murmured, kissing your hair as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Work go okay?”

“It was work, I ain’t praising it,” you chuckled, as he laughed quietly. “How’d your test go?”

“Oh, I aced it,” he replied with a grin, pulling you a little closer.

“You sound really sure of yourself,” you pointed out, reaching across him for the joint, and tipping your head to see him as he swiped it from your fingers. “ _Hey_.”

“Of course I’m sure, baby,” Chase grinned, flashing his eyes before taking a drag. It made you snort, and curl your fingers in the front of his shirt.

“You cheated, didn’t you?” Leaning in, Chase pinched your chin between his fingers, parting your lips as he puffed out the smoke, his lips brushing yours as your eyes fluttered shut. It was a soft kiss, the smoke from the joint burning just so as it passed through your mouth to your throat.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have  _had_  to, if someone had let me study,” he smirked, as he pulled back, quickly putting the joint down as you squawked and slapped his chest.

“If I remember correctly, Collins,  _you_  were the reason no studying happened.” When he gasped, mock-offended, you climbed off the bed, moving towards his dresser to tug open his underwear drawer.

“What’re you doing?”

“Proof,” you laughed, pulling out the DVD and throwing it into his lap, his eyes dropping to see the porn cover staring up at him. “You were determined to watch this. In fact, I believe my words were, ‘We can watch that after we study’, and you countered by fl-” Before you could finish your sentence, Chase’s eyes went black, and the sound of the porn, the moaning woman and low dirty talk from the man, filtered out of the TV behind you. “ _That_. You did that,” you huffed, reaching back to turn the TV off.

      The feeling of hands on your hips made you squawk, the pressure enveloping you before you found yourself on the bed, and Chase putting the joint out in the ashtray as he rolled on top of you.

“ _Chase Collins_.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, grazing his lips against yours, exhaling between your lips as you hummed, and cupped his face. “Not like we got anythin’ tomorrow, right?”

“You’re such a bad boy,” you teased, as he flashed his eyes, the black burning out the white, as he smirked down at you.

      The lights in the room dimmed, the movie flickering back on in the background. You didn’t worry about the sound of the movie or the smell of the pot leaking out into the the rest of the building, knowing Chase had taken care of it - he always did. So with a small smile, you drew him close, shifting to hook your legs around his waist.

“But I love it,” you purred, moaning as he sealed his lips against yours, hips rocking down as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and held him close.


	13. Tatterdemalion (Bucky Barnes)

_**Tatterdemalion** : raggedly dressed person; looking disreputable or decayed_

* * *

[Originally posted by bucky-plums-barnes](https://tmblr.co/Zzt-sg2crw0os)

         Every time the bell rang over the door, you would glance over, even if you in the middle of something else, just out of habit. You’d been running the coffee shop long enough that you knew almost every person walking in the door with just a glance at the clock.

        8:45AM, Katelyn, always in a rush on her way into the office, but always leaves a great tip in the jar while she waited for her latte.

        9:15AM, Melissa, always sounding slightly frazzled despite how completely together she looked, as she approached and ordered eight drinks and a dozen baked goods for the various people in the office she worked in.

        12:15PM, Serena, rushing in on her lunch for a iced black tea and a scone, before dumping her change in the tip jar and racing back out.

        2:30PM, Mrs. Linset, a married mother of four grade school aged kids, who came by every weekday for a pick-me-up on her way to pick up her kids at school, and left with a grateful smile once she had her black coffee in her hand.

        And every day, at 3:18, when the door opened, you knew it was Bucky shuffling in the door.

        All the nice, wonderful customers you had, you adored Bucky. He was probably your favorite. He was always dressed a little roughly - worn jeans, big shirt, worn leather gloves. The first time he came into the shop, he looked around, and sat down, almost like he was afraid to come to the counter. It had taken you a moment to see him, as you finished putting out the last batch of muffins for the day, but when you did, you had honestly thought he looked homeless. Not that you judged, but you did take a moment to check around before approaching him, and gently asking him if he wanted anything - coffee, muffin, something. You didn’t want to ask if he was homeless, it was such a tacky question, and honestly, you didn’t care if he was, if he wanted to come in and sit. He wasn’t hurting anyone. Instead, you had offered him something, on the house, for his first time there.

        Bucky wasn’t a fan of the fancy drinks, as he put it - didn’t like the lattes, or the cappucinos, or the espressos, or anything like that. Black coffee, sometimes with milk if he was feeling adventurous. But as far as the baked goods go, he tried something different every day.

        Now, a year later, Bucky was your favorite customer, and you knew better. The ragged, worn, and sometimes torn clothing was all about comfort, and about blending in when he went out. He didn’t like people coming up to him on the street, not like his friends did. He just liked to blend in as much as he could, and considering he was part of the Avengers and the former Winter Soldier, it didn’t always work as well as he wanted, but he tried it anyways.

        And almost a year after his first trip into the shop, you knew better than to wonder if he was okay when he left your shop, you knew better than to worry where he went when he wasn’t there with you.

        At 3:18, as the bell crashed against the door, you grinned, blushing, and smiled at the younger woman in front of you as  you handed her the coffee she’d bought, waving as she turned and moved around Bucky on her way out.

“Hey, Buck. Black, or with a splash?”

“With a splash,” he chuckled, as you grinned, and turned, picking up the coffee you’d poured for him, and adding a splash of milk, before pressing the lid on and sliding it to him. “Did you make anything new today?”

“Pumpkin muffins.” He hesitated, head tilted as he considered it, before smiling, and nodding. “Go sit, I’ll bring it. Heated?”

“Please,” Bucky replied, taking his coffee, and moving towards the worn brown bench he always sat at, sipping his coffee as he leaned back against the wall, peering outside.

        The feel of your lips on his temple made him grin, and turn, hand curling around your waist. He didn’t have to ask, as you put the muffin down, and leaned forward, cupping his face, scruff scratching your palm as you leaned down to kiss him softly.

“Pizza tonight?” he murmured as you pulled back, forehead resting on his.

“It’s your turn to buy,” you reminded him, as he grinned, and pulled you a little closer, hand gentle on your hip.

“Yes it is. I’m guessing that’s a yes, then, so I’ll have it when you come home.” With a soft giggle, you nodded, kissing him softly one more time, before the bell rang above the door. “Get back to work, slacker.”

“Hobo,” you teased him, pecking his forehead, before moving towards the counter.

        You didn’t have to worry about where Bucky was going to sleep for the night. Despite looking a bit rough, and a bit ragged, Bucky’s head rested on the pillow beside yours at night, his body warm as he pulled you into his chest, and buried his face against your hair.

        You didn’t have to worry about it, because every night, Bucky was with you, and you were both safe with the person you loved the most.


	14. Hiraeth (Bucky Barnes)

_**Hiraeth** : the homesickness for a home you can never return to; a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past_

* * *

[Originally posted by buckythefarmer](https://tmblr.co/ZmbBya2YcuOdC)

          The idea of joining the Avengers terrified Bucky, not because it put him back on the front lines in a way, but because he didn’t know what it meant for his life. Because being an Avenger had become synonymous with being a hero, a good guy, a savior. But despite everything, Bucky had to admit, it was nice to be back in New York.

         For the first few months, Bucky just couldn’t get himself to leave the tower for anything not related to missions. But with Steve’s gentle insistence, Bucky finally managed to go to Manhattan, and, after arguing with himself for most of the trip, he went to Brooklyn, making himself track the streets that were still laid out in his head from a century before.

         He stopped two blocks from the neighborhood he’d grown up in, already very aware of how different everything was, unsure of if he could handle seeing that the house he grew up in, the last place he saw his family, was gone, and lingered on the corner, taking a step forward, and then two back. It was while he was doing that that a black and white cat trotted up to him, meowing desperately. Bucky stopped, startled, jumping a little when the kitty pawed at his shins.

“…who are you?” he murmured, leaning down to scoop her up, fingers catching on a purple collar. “…Misty?”

“Misfit!” a voice called out, pulling Bucky’s eyes up as you raced towards him, stumbling a little as you stopped in front of him. “Oh my god, thank you so much for catching her, _I told you that you can’t go outside_ ,” you gasped, reaching out to stroke your fingers over the purring cat. Bucky laughed quietly, letting you take her, smiling.

“She found me, actually…Misfit?” he asked, humored at the name, as you blushed, shrugging.

“She’s a little misfit, seemed fitting. And I just call her Misty.”

“And what do they call you?” he asked, surprising both you, and himself, as you met his eye. Bucky hadn’t been brave enough to really  _meet_  anyone since he joined the team, but when you blushed, and smiled at him, he didn’t regret the fact that his mouth moved before his brain.

         That was the first time Bucky had met you, on the edge of his old neighborhood, but it wasn’t the last. You two became friends, you met him in Manhattan for coffee now and then, and then the dates started. And now, just over a year later, Bucky found himself wrapped around you, in your bed, in your apartment, two blocks from the neighborhood he’d grown up in.

         And he hadn’t been able to work the strength up to move into that neighborhood like he’d been trying to do since that day. Hell, he didn’t even tell you why he was on that street for six months after you started dating.

         You saw him glancing that direction every time the two of you left the apartment, but you didn’t say anything, and didn’t press, you simply laced your fingers with his and continued on your way.

         Bucky didn’t know that you talked to Steve about the neighborhood, asking about locations and specifics, because you didn’t want to upset Bucky by asking him, especially if he couldn’t remember.

         The day you led him in the opposite direction, Bucky was startled, and you felt the little bit of resistance in the way he tugged your hand, but when you looked back at him with a small, comforting smile, he squeezed your hand, and followed you close, nervous about what was going to happen.

         You knew the possibilities when you made the decision to take Bucky to the place he’d grown up, the place he knew best before the war. So as heartbreaking as it was, you weren’t surprised to see the way Bucky blinked at the building that stood where his home once had, eyes getting red as he fought back his emotions.

“…I knew it wouldn’t be the same,” he murmured, finally lowering his head. “…I just…I just hoped.”

“…Buck…”

“It was my home, doll. My mom lived there. My sisters. I went to war, and the entire world I knew was taken from me,” he sniffled, as you squeeze his hand. “I know it was stupid to think b-”

“Not stupid,” you promised, leaning into his side, and kissing his shoulder. “Bucky, you lost a long time…it’s normal to want to hold onto  _home_.” Bucky shook his head, and you could see the nerves in his eyes, as you peered up at him.

         Bucky was lightyears from where he’d been after he escaped Hydra, but he still had troubles with his mind, with his memory, and you could see the worry that maybe the home he thought he knew, once, wasn’t right, wasn’t real.

         With a soft kiss to the scruff on his cheek, you tugged his hand, leading him back through the neighborhood, back to your apartment, holding him close. It didn’t seem to help, his head hung low as he trudged along beside you. It honestly broke your heart, stroking your thumb along the back of his hand as you walked, seeing him so busted up about things.

         The second you were back inside, he started towards the bedroom, but you stopped him, biting your lip as he looked at you, pleadingly.

“…I wanna…I know you’re hurtin’, Buck…but…can you wait, one second?” He frowned, but sighed, nodding. As you released his hand, he kicked off his shoes, and hung up his jacket, taking yours from you to do the same before you moved to the living room. You came back with a box from the bookshelf, kicking off your boots as you took his hand again and led him to the bedroom.

         After climbing up against the headboard, you tugged Bucky up with you, setting the box on your otherside.

“…I just wanna lay down, doll,” he mumbled, resting his head on your leg as you nodded.

“I’m not gonna stop you…but I wanna ease some of your nerves.” When he didn’t answer, you reached down, opening the box, and pulling out a small stack of photographs. Scratching your fingers through his hair, you reached your other hand out, slipping the pictures into Bucky’s hands.

“…doll?”

“Just look at ‘em, baby,” you said softly.

         Bucky sighed, shifting around until he was able to lift the pictures and look at them. You moved your fingers lightly through his hair, over his neck, biting your lip as his breath caught in his throat.

         You knew what the pictures were, you’d specifically asked Steve for them after you realized why Bucky kept looking off in that direction when you would leave your apartment. He was happy to help, even enlisting Tony Stark to help him get everything together. They were pictures of the neighborhood Bucky had grown up in, images of them as children, before the war. There were pictures of Bucky with his family, pictures of the house. Pictures that made tears spring to his eyes as he flipped through them, lip trembling as he did.

“…Bucky?” you murmured quietly, when you realized he was staring up at you.

“How… _why_?” he asked weakly, as you frowned, smoothing your hand over his hair.

“Because you needed the comfort of the memory…and you needed to know it was  _real_. That something good was real, even if you can’t go back to it.” He bit his lip. “…I love you, Bucky Barnes.” He twisted, burying his face in your stomach, hugging you around the waist despite how awkward it was.

“I love you too.”


	15. Nepenthe (Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers)

_**Nepenthe** : a medicine for sorrow; a place, person or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering_ 

* * *

[Originally posted by tanrininprezervatifi](https://tmblr.co/ZPzPyl2SBXi1i)

          Since returning to the States from his stay in Wakanda, Bucky hadn’t even considered the Smithsonian exhibit. But for the past few weeks, he felt something niggling at his mind, and, as much as he had tried to ignore it, he finally caved, slipping out of the tower and away from the team.

         The exhibit was bigger than he remembered, something he figured had to do with the fact that he had only been looking for Steve, then, for himself, not looking around to actually take in the rest of the pieces. This time, he took his time, politely declining the young woman at the desk who offered to show him around. He wanted to look, but he was certain he didn’t need help with it.

         He should have known that looking through the exhibit, seeing the pictures of the Commandos, of himself decades before, of Steve, seeing pictures of Steve’s mom, and of his own family, would have stirred up old memories. But he didn’t expect them to hit him quite so sharply in the chest. Bucky didn’t stop, he kept exploring, and seeing and reading, but he could feel the weight on his shoulders the more he moved, the more he saw, he could feel the burn in his eyes, and, even though it had been years since his left arm had been so heavy it made his body ache regardless, he could feel the ache in his shoulder again.

         By the time he left the Smithsonian, Bucky was mentally kicking himself, tugging his jacket tighter around his frame as he headed down the road. Bucky was no stranger to feeling sad, to suffering through his memories of the things he’d done, and of the things he’d missed. But there was something about having walked through everything again, seeing the pictures of himself in his uniform, with his team, with Steve after he was rescued, that felt like he was being choked, smothered by the sadness that he’d hoped was long gone.

         It felt like ages before he entered the tower, shuffling towards the elevator, half-mumbling to FRIDAY where he wanted to go. Bucky just wanted to lie down, hope that the sleep would help him feel better. Hell, when the doors to the elevator opened, he barely had the energy to drag himself down the hall, wiping his face again as he finally reached his room.

         He stood in the doorway, blinking, at the sight of you on one side of the bed, Steve on the other, with a big open space in between. Your eyes flicked up to his, and you smiled softly, swinging your feet off the bed.

“Buck…”

“…what’re you guys doing?”

“Waiting for you,” you replied, helping him out of his jacket, and shirt, pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek, before moving to hang up his jacket. Bucky looked over as Steve came forward, then, squeezing his shoulder, helping him out of his boots, and his jeans.

“FRIDAY told us you were going to exhibit…thought you might…want some company when you came home.”

         Bucky furrowed his brow, glancing over as Steve nudged him onto the bed, and you climbed back up onto your side, pulling him to the middle. He felt the bed shift, as Steve slid up behind him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky buried his face against your chest, as you curled one arm under his head, and Steve’s, and rubbed your other hand over his arm.

         The weight of the sadness had been almost enough to cripple Bucky on his way back to the tower. Several times during the trip back, he’d considered just stopping somewhere, laying down, curling up in a ball to let it out. But laying there, wrapped up in the warmth of the two people he loved most in the world, he felt the sadness slipping away, felt the ache vanishing again, the warmth of you both pulling it out of his body.

         God, how he loved you both.


End file.
